One long, earnest survey of the lake ended, Jasper gave new orders in a similar manner to prove how much he thought that the time pressed.  Two kedges were got on deck, and hawsers were bent to them; the inner ends of the hawsers were bent, in their turns, to the crowns of the anchors, and everything was got ready to throw them overboard at the proper moment.  These preparations completed, Jasper’s manner changed from the excitement of exertion to a look of calm but settled concern.  He quitted the forecastle, where the seas were dashing inboard at every plunge of the vessel, the duty just mentioned having been executed with the bodies of the crew frequently buried in the water, and walked to a drier part of the deck, aft.  Here he was met by the Pathfinder, who was standing near Mabel and the Quartermaster.  Most of those on board, with the exception of the individuals who have already been particularly mentioned, were below, some seeking relief from physical suffering on their pallets, and others tardily bethinking them of their sins.  For the first time, most probably, since her keel had dipped into the limpid waters of Ontario, the voice of prayer was, heard on board the Scud.

“Jasper,” commenced his friend, the guide, “I have been of no use this morning, for my gifts are of little account, as you know, in a vessel like this; but, should it please God to let the Sergeant’s daughter reach the shore alive, my acquaintance with the forest may still carry her through in safety to the garrison.”

“’Tis a fearful distance thither, Pathfinder!” Mabel rejoined, the party being so near together that all which was said by one was overheard by the others.  “I am afraid none of us could live to reach the fort.”

“It would be a risky path, Mabel, and a crooked one; though some of your sex have undergone even more than that in this wilderness.  But, Jasper, either you or I, or both of us, must man this bark canoe; Mabel’s only chance will lie in getting through the breakers in that.”

“I would willingly man anything to save Mabel,” answered Jasper, with a melancholy smile; “but no human hand, Pathfinder, could carry that canoe through yonder breakers in a gale like this.  I have hopes from anchoring, after all; for once before have we saved the Scud in an extremity nearly as great as this.”

“If we are to anchor, Jasper,” the Sergeant inquired, “why not do it at once?  Every foot we lose in drifting now would come into the distance we shall probably drag when the anchors are let go.”

Jasper drew nearer to the Sergeant, and took his hand, pressing it earnestly, and in a way to denote strong, almost uncontrollable feelings.

“Sergeant Dunham,” said he solemnly, “you are a good man, though you have treated me harshly in this business.  You love your daughter?”

“That you cannot doubt, Eau-douce,” returned the Sergeant huskily.

“Will you give her —­ give us all —­ the only chance for life that is left?”